Untitled
by Raei
Summary: Blaise ZabiniTheodore Nott, Theodore thinks he's completely alone, when in reality it's only half true. Slash. FLUFF


They watch as he sits quietly at the wooden dinner table, speaking to no one. They watch as he eats slowly, chewing everything until it has been torn into manageable pieces, and swallowing as the sharp curve of his Adams apple bobs up and down. No one knows what to say to him, nor how to form their buzzing thoughts into sentences, fragments – something that will reach his ears for his comprehension. They don't know how it'll be received, or even what the answer will be. So they simply content themselves with watching him.

Day after day, without consent nor realization, he is the focus of hundreds of pairs of eyes.

Brown, blue, green – all colors focus on him as he walks down the corridors, but none of them _really_ see him. They follow his movements; judging the way his hips move – if they even move at all, the hollow clicking sound his shoes make when they fall upon the marble floor, the shifty way his eyes seem to scan the floor as he walks… almost as if he's searching for a way out. They wonder if he even breathes, or if he feels pain, remorse, and contentment… if he's able to feel pleasure. Perhaps he can and feels it to an extent that no other person is capable of. But no one dares to ask. They're all simply satisfied to watch.

He's quiet. He pefers to stay quiet. It's much less complicated in the long run, things aren't taken in a way they should or shouldn't be. Life is problematic when words and feelings are added and twined into everything so deeply that one becomes dependant on their uses. They dip in and out of everything, leaving a scathed burn wherever they happen to touch. These things scar, they make marks that shouldn't be there in the first place. Marks that are not useful, they don't provide a sense of accomplishment, or prudery. They're simply marring, seemingly useless things. They tend weaken the soul, and mind.

So when he disappears one day, everyone notices. They all ask themselves what happened to that boy with the brown hair.. you know, the one who used to always be so categorically silent?

"…He's gone."

Voices, heads, and bodies – they all turn to the voice that's just cut through their silent questions.

And he stands there, head held high, smile on his face… because he's finally been noticed. And all it took… was one person who wasn't afraid of everything that composed his frail mind, to walk up to him, and tell him he was worth it. Tell him that he was noticed, that he was needed, that he was in his own right – important.

"…Gone?" A faceless voice wonders aloud.

"Gone." Theodore nods.

"…Who's gone?"

His heart ceases, and his palms break out in a sweat. Millions of eyes are staring at him openly, and he feels a brush of air grace the back of his ear; causing unpleasant shivers to run up and down his spine in rapid succession.

"You never really mattered in the first place. You were merely something that people pretended to be interested in. Something people looked to for morbid entertainment. You're nothing. Just like you've always aspired to be. Don't fool yourself into thinking otherwise."

Theodore closes his eyes and when he re-opens them, he's standing infront of a mirror staring at his listless, sunken, expressionless face.

"…Nothing." He repeats.

His hands grip the sink as he closes his eyes and looks down, tears welling up and pouring from behind tightly closed lashes. He feels his heart rip in half, before being stabbed mercilessly, carelessly with a sharp needle in a desperate attempt to repair itself. The pinpoint of the metal begins to messily sew the broken parts of his jagged heart back together with string of serrated edges. The needle misses places, sews too tightly in others, pulling too irregularly at the tender, red flesh of his heart before knotting off and dropping into his stomach.

When he looks back up into the mirror, there is a person standing behind him. He does not jump. He does nothing but stare through misty, dizzy eyes into the seemingly detached face drifting over his shoulder.

"You're a liar."

"What?"

Blaise steps forwards, and wraps his arms around Theodore's waist, kissing the back of his neck before whispering into his ear; his breath simply warm, and almost comforting against Theodore's skin. "You're everything."

"…Everything?"

Blaise nods, and takes ahold of Theodore's arms, turning him around before pressing him back against the sink. He reaches up and slides his thumb along a tear track, effectively erasing the evidence of it ever being there. "Everything."

"Wh--"

Before Theodore has a chance to answer, Blaise lifts his hands, and cups Theodore's jaw. His eyes burn into Theodore's, trying their hardest to make Theodore believe his words to be true. "You're everything to me."

Theodore forces himself to keep eye contact with Blaise as long as he can, before he shakes his head and looks down, his eyelashes sticking together with the residue of tears. "You're a good liar, Blaise." Theodore whispers before looking back up at him. "But not good enough."

It is then that Blaise's fingers tighten on Theodore's face, the round fleshy ends digging into Theodore's cheeks, and neck. "Idiot." He whispers, before leaning forwards to kiss a fresh tear away from Theodore's cheek. "…Just believe me."

"Why?"

Blaise looks into Theodore's eyes, searching their seemingly blank depths for a long while until he finds a spark of life, and pounces on it. "Because I never lie when it's important."

Theodore's breath catches in his throat, and he feels his chest tighten considerably as Blaise's fingers relax, leaving small red marks in their wake. "…I'm sorry." Theodore shakes his head and falls forwards, burying his face in Blaise's neck as he wraps his arms around Blaise's solid form; curling his fingers around Blaise's jumper. Theodore clings to Blaise, because he's he only thing that seems real anymore.

"Never be sorry for who you are." Blaise murmers against Theodore's head, his arms sliding around Theodore's neck as he tenderly kisses Theodore's forehead, his temple, his cheek.

And Theodore realizes for the first time in his life as Blaise's lips press against his own, wet with the liquid pain Theodore has known his entire life... that this is what it's like to pretend you're alive, and almost, _almost _believe it to be true.

YAY! Well, here is another, with TWO obscure characters as a slash pair. GOOO ME:D Comments are appreciated.


End file.
